08/03/2017 by syrbal-labrys
…and thinking of homes, in general. The sky is cloudless outdoors. But it is not blue, it is a sickly livid white glare and the least breath makes me cough and pains me. So, I’m staying indoors, windows shut, all save the first cool, but still smoke-hazed morning hours. I made necklaces for the friends I did not see at lunch today. All but one of them came here as immigrants. That one was the daughter of an immigrant.
Consuming news, still, with repugnance – I wonder when we call the alleged “immigration” polices pursued by Trump what they are: racism? He targets military members now, who are not native born. These are people literally willing to die in OUR wars; but they are not good enough to be left alone to pursue life, liberty, and happiness here. Tom Cotton thinks he is a big boy now, standing by the President and working on picking and choosing immigrants with his crummy “Go home, you poor bastard” bill. Has anyone told him a great lot of the Syrian refugees are professional people escaping a war zone at least partially of OUR making? But hey, we don’t want those professionals, do we?
The French should come by night and steal back the Lady in New York Harbor. I know they didn’t imagine her raising her lamp to say “Liberty? I’ve got mine, fuck you!”